


Crowalescence

by DittyWrites



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Chance Meetings, Discussion of questionable scientific advances, Gen, Snark, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-08 00:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14682276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DittyWrites/pseuds/DittyWrites
Summary: A dingy bar plays host to a chance meeting between two questionable scientists who both definitely failed their ethics classes in university: Dr. Jonathan Crane and Dr. Moira O'Deorain.





	Crowalescence

**Author's Note:**

> Is this selfish indulgence? Yes.

Jonathan had already set himself up in a darkened booth where privacy was guaranteed when she entered. Her dark coat buttoned to the neck, its length finished just below thin knees which exposed her black, tailored suit trousers and matching court shoes to the room as her eyes scanned each face, seeking out her meeting.

As her gaze settled in his direction, Jonathan indicated the booth with a loose hand, inviting her to take a seat. Her appearance brought him no real feelings at all, aside from a very subtle pleasure that she had actually came and seemed to be alone and unarmed.

To be shunned from society and deemed mad by other professionals led to many doors being closed in terms of funding, supplies and research. However, it also led to many new avenues being opened. 

Black markets. 

Word of mouth. 

New relationships.

Such as the one he had developed with Dr. Moira O'Deorain.

As brilliant as she was ruthless, he had encountered her several times while attempting to secure new equipment and organise potential import venues for his chemical needs. Her area of interest had been genetics, not something he was overly concerned with, but he could sense her potential. However, just as his interest was piqued, she soon disappeared from the scene and the rumour mill was rife with tales of her involvement with various organisations which he took no interest in.

And yet, when he discovered that she had been spotted within Gotham recently he could not help but extend her an invitation and hope that she responded.

Hope springs eternal, apparently.

As she took a seat opposite him, Jonathan waited patiently for her to remove her coat and place it by her side.

“Drink, ma'am?” A voice interrupted.

Without even sparing a glance in the waiters direction, Moira answered.

“Stout.” Sniffing, she ran a hand through her hair, attempting to tame the shock of red as it stood on end. “What do you have on tap?”

“Well we have...” The waiter begun in a practised tone before rhyming off the available drinks which he could serve.

Jonathan zoned his attention out, choosing instead to focus on the woman before him.

Sneering as the list finished, Moira shook her head in irritation.

“You Americans and the piss you attempt to pass off as drink,” she muttered to herself, “what did I expect? I'll have a vodka,” she paused, “top shelf, with soda and lime and i'll know if you try to short-change me.” Her accent as thick as ever, the Irish brogue sounded very out of place.

“I'll just go and grab that for you Ma'am, and yourself?” The waiter directed his attention towards Jonathan.

“I'll have another whiskey.” He waved the man off.

“Excellent, Sir.”

As the waiter disappeared, both individuals took a moment to size up the other.

“Dr. O'Deorain.” Jonathan broke the silence.

“Dr. Crane.” Moira responded, before pausing. “You look terrible. Time hasn't been kind to you, the years have taken their toll.”

“I have to admit, I cannot say the same for you.” 

Sweeping his gaze across her fine, almost androgynous, features, Jonathan could detect very little signs of ageing on the woman, quite the feat given he had not clapped eyes on her in over ten years. 

Suspiciously so. 

A vicious smile graced her face as Moira tilted her head at him.

“Between you and I, my work keeps me young.” The laughter which accompanied her words was dark and Jonathan was quick to pick up the subtle shudder of their waiter as he deposited their drinks on the table and scurried off just as quickly.

Both extending hands to pick up their tumblers, Jonathans' eyes widened in surprise as he noted the sorry state of her right hand. 

Unlike her left- which looked entirely normal- her right appeared to be in a state of...decay? The flesh was tinged purple and the lack of obvious bondage suggested it was not a circulation problem. Her nails were longer than would be considered socially acceptable, filed as sharp as claws, and their threatening appearance was no mistake. 

Indicating the appendage, Jonathan extended her a questioning look.

“Science has given me a lot,” she answered after a moment, “but it always has a price. The Lord giveth, Lord taketh away.” 

“Speaking of projects, I recall you had perfected your genetic manipulations and developed a method of absorbing and projecting biotic material but you had made mentions of a new project you were working on.” Making conversation, Jonathan stiffened his back against the hard wood backing of the chair. “How is your little pet monster coming along? The last I heard you had acquired the subject you and your people desired.”

“Amelie?” Moira chuckled, “Oh she's grand. A wonderful asset. My diligent work has crafted her into the perfect assassin, one which we have used in numerous assaults and infiltrations across the globe. We even had her kill her own husband. The idiot.”

“Is that so?” Jonathan raised an eyebrow as Moira again ran a sharp hand through her red hair. “So she is fully conditioned to the will of your organisation?” Sipping his drink, the warmth of the whiskey travelled down his throat leaving a pleasant burn in its wake.

“She will do anything which is commanded of her.” Moira confirmed.

“I'm curious. Which methods of coercion and manipulation did you adopt to install such obedience?”

“A good doctor never reveals their secrets.” A small shake of the head. “But I can confirm it took many months of indoctrination in order to create her. All backed up by my impressive work with genetics and other physical manipulations. One can only resist biology for so long and our pet spider is as deadly as a black widow. The science wins. I win.” As she continued her speech, her thick accent deepened as she boasted of her achievements.

Jonathan nodded his understanding. “And she possesses no signs of rebellion or internal depression at her situation?”

“She feels nothing resembling anything human.” Moira shrugged as she took a long swig of her drink. “Aside from physical pain, I suppose.”

Listening to her explanation, Jonathan could not dampen the noise which escaped his throat.

“You disapprove of my methods?” She cocked a thin brow. “Ironic from a man knows as the 'Scarecrow' whose only goal is to create terror and fear.”

“No offence intended, Doctor, but your creation holds no real interest to me outside of a general professional curiosity.” Jonathan elaborated on his unintentional rudeness. “My lives work is dependent on the manipulation of emotion, not its removal.”

“And how does your work fare?” Moira inquired, taking the attention off herself for a moment.

“My work is moving at an incredible rate.” Jonathan confessed, tone tainted with pride as he spoke. “The base toxin you knew of when we last met is a faint memory at best. Mere child's play. I can now create toxin compounds which can cause anything from mild anxiety, which lasts for months, to unbearable terror which can bring heart failure within minutes.”

“I've always found your work impressive, Crane,” tapping the sharpened nails of her decaying hand on the table, Moira indicated her approval, “and I know there are others who would greatly appreciate your talents as a master chemist and psychologist. Have you considered consultation work?”

“My work is my own and will never be shared while I draw breath.” Jonathan played off her interest with a low hum, “And how is 'Talon'? I hear very little of your exploits given the distance between their operations and high preference for secrecy.”

“One of our leaders recently escaped his prison and his return has set us on a new course of conflict creation.” Moira sighed, the first sign of true weariness emanating from her. “I admire his determination to succeed but the impact of his choices to my work has been,” a wrinkle appeared in her nose, “unfortunate.”

“And your enemies?”

“Overwatch?” Her mouth twisted unpleasantly. “Couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery between the lot of them. Then again, Talon can also make a right dogs breakfast of the simplest tasks. You know how it is...”

Thinking of the costumed denizens with which he kept his own company, Jonathan clinked his glass with hers.

“Yes, I do, and more than I would like to confess to.” He admitted before downing the remaining whiskey. “So, what other events have been occurring in your line of work?”

Conversation flowed just as easily between the pair as their drinks and it was not until the bell sounding final orders at the bar rang that they realised how much time had passed.

Moira was the first to make a move.

Standing, her willowy height only added to her odd countenance as she slid her arms back into her jacket.

“It's been fun,” she threw down some money on the table for their waiter, “ta.” She directed at Jonathan before making a move towards the door.

“Let me walk you out.” Jonathan cut in, quickly matching her movements and meeting her before she could escape. “In these dark nights, it would be foolish to travel alone.”

“A gentlemen? Now there's a joke.” Moira chuckled. “Well whatever your game is, I'll see it through.”

Being the only duo left in the bar, their exit into the dimly-lit street went unnoticed by any other. The deserted streets held a fond familiarity to Jonathan who found this time of evening ideal for many of his various ventures.

“My flight leaves in the morn.” Moira continued as they walked along the cobbled pathway. “I am required back in Oasis for a briefing and Akande does not tolerate delays.”

“I also have a meeting tomorrow.” Nodding his similar circumstance, Jonathan palmed his various pockets subtly as he sought out an item. “Cobblepot has requested both my own and another's presence for an information exchange on equal grounds.”

“Which rouge?” She asked.

“Nygma.” Jonathan answered, face twisting with his distaste as she laughed.

“Have fun with that.”

Smirking as he found what he was looking for in the lowest pocket of his coat, Jonathan cast a quick glance around.

“Oh, I intend to.”

Hurtling the toxin filled bomb to the ground, Jonathans' vision was completely obscured by the plume of reddish-orange smoke which enveloped him. Having taken his own antidote earlier in the day, no panic was visible on Jonathans' face as he spoke.

“I would apologise but surely you should have seen this coming.” He grinned into the nothing. “But don't worry too much, Doctor, the dose you have is nowhere near enough to be fatal but perfect to force you to confront your deepest fears. Call it professional curiosity.”

As the smoke dissipated, Jonathan cast his eyes to the ground to locate his 'friend' and the state of distress she was no doubt in.

Only to find nothing.

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he scanned the empty space.

How could she have disappeared? 

It was impossible. 

A roughly cleared throat snatched his attention.

There, twenty feet up the road, was his supposed victim, standing proud and with a vaguely disapproving look on her face.

“You absolute fool!” Her laughter echoed through the darkness of the street. “Do you think me so stupid? Eh?” 

As she raised her decaying hand, Jonathan could barely get a word out before a most terrible feeling overcame him. His breath came to him in short gasps as every atom of his being felt as though it were being grotesquely twisted and drained of its essence. While it was not the most agonising sensation he had experienced, it certainly was not pleasant. 

His strength failing, Jonathan dropped to his knees and his palms held flat against the ground as he grunted against the pain.

The soft crunch of gravel alluded to her approach but it was not until a sharp clawed nail appeared until his chin to tilt his head upwards that Jonathan was forced to face his intended victim.

“Do you feel it?” Moira muttered, her pupils blown as she continued to draw the life from him. “A lifetime spent perfecting it, with such beautiful results.”

Darkness tingeing his vision, Jonathan was too busy clinging to his consciousness to comment.

How ironic that he would die at the hand of one as committed to their work as he.

“Will you give me the formula for your toxin in exchange for your life?” Voice drawling into his ear, Moiras' expression was almost feral as Jonathan concentrated on her bared teeth to keep his thoughts focussed.

“N-never.” He bit out as vindictively as he could. “You'll have...kill...me first.”

“Ha!”

As Moira stood again to her impressive height, Jonathan felt her hold of him drop as he teetered the edge between consciousness and welcoming darkness. Through the blurry haze, a bright light made itself apparent and approached him rapidly.

Wincing he slammed his eyes shut at the glare but no sooner had they clapped shut than a burst of energy swept though him, creating a shiver through his system as whatever essential nutrients had been stolen from him were forcibly reimbursed. 

“Tenacious,” her accented voice again cut through his thoughts, “I can appreciate that.”

“Why not just kill me?” Opening his eyes to face her again, Jonathan struggled shakily to his feet. He was vulnerable and he did not like it.

“You amuse me and you have future potential which could be of value to me.” Moira confessed, producing a small glowing ball and holding it in her palm for a moment before extinguishing it. “If I killed every prick who thought he could get one over on me then there would be significantly less people in this world.”

Silence fell in the darkened street as they stared each other down a final time.

“Next time choose a pub with stout.” Moira warned before inclined her head towards him. “Until then, Dr. Crane.” She jerked her head to him in goodbye before disappearing from sight.

Startled, Jonathan jolted in place.

A good doctor never reveals their secrets.

Apparently so.

Chastised, mildly buzzed, and left with a myriad of thoughts, Jonathan gave a deep sigh before dragging himself through the street towards his nearest hideout.


End file.
